Deceptions
by blah.etc
Summary: Story of PTO told from the perspectives of their minds and mine.Bonus, an occasional parody at the end of some chapters.


A/N: Hello all you people out there! Please note that this contains all 13 chapters from my previous account. I'm sorry if it's too long!

**Masquerade **

He looked out the window at the gray streets of Paris. A couple of children ran across the street and his car gently swerved to the right to avoid them. He watched them run happily on their way, blissfully unaware of the goings on, of the past, of the torment in his hear that made him feel much older than his age. An image of Christine flashed in his mind, as beautiful as ever, her dark eyes twinkling in the Opera House lights. He missed her and their old days together, their games and their easy jokes… Little Lottie… But now she was gone… The car jolted slightly and Raoul came out of his reverie. They had arrived. There it was, standing there, looking so forlorn and broken. Opera Populaire. He gazed at its scorched walls, remembering the great fire that had consumed it, and with that memory came another. One that he preferred to have forgotten, one he preferred not to have. Unconsciously, his hand reached for the right side of his face where a small scar resided. It was from the fire…so long ago…

The door opened the nurse assisted him out of his seat and into his wheelchair. She gently laid a soft woolen blanket across his lap and walking behind him wheeled his wheelchair toward the Opera House. They were having an auction today and he decided to come and see what they had. Perhaps he will find a few things to buy to remind him of Christine…

"Lot 663, then, ladies and gentlemen: a poster for this house's production of " Hannibal" by Chalumeau." A porter showed the poster to a small audience.

"Showing here."

"Do I have ten franks? Five then. Five I am bid. Six, seven. Against you, sir, seven."

Raoul looked at the poster, memories flooding his mind. He gently raised his hand.

"Eight." The auctioneer said in his soft but carrying voice. "Eight once. Selling twice. Sold, to Raoul, Vicomte de Chagny."

The auction continued, but Raoul was not hearing it anymore. His eyes had fallen on a familiar face. He couldn't quite remember the name, something with a G in it… The elderly lady looked back at him and a small smile played across her lips as she inclined her head in a form of recognition and greeting. _Giry_, he thought, _Madame Giry, the ballet trainer_. Raoul bowed his head in return and gazed back at the auctioneer who was now holding a musical box with a monkey dressed in Persian robes and playing the cymbals sitting on top of it. He recognized the piece…

"A collector's piece." The auctioneer announced.

_A collector's piece indeed…_

_Every detail exactly as she said…_

"May I start at twenty francs? Fifteen, then? Fifteen I am bid."

_She once mentioned you, my friend…_

_Your velvet lining, your figurine of lead…_

Madame Giry raised her hand slightly, bidding twenty franks. Raoul looked at the figurine, it was worth having. He raised his hand in return, raising the bid to twenty five franks. But Madam Giry did not give up so easily. She looked at him silently, thousands of emotions in her eyes and bid thirty franks. _No_, Raoul thought, _let her have it… it may only harm me_…He bowed his head in resignation, letting her know that he was not going to bid further.

"Thirty franks? Going once…twice… Sold to Madame Giry for thirty franks." The porter handed the music box to Madame Giry.

…_Will you still play when the rest of us are gone…?_

" Lot 666, then: a chandelier in pieces. Some of you may recall the strange affair of the Phantom of the Opera: a mystery never fully explained. We are told ladies and gentlemen, that this is the very chandelier which figures in the famous disaster." Raoul's eyes were suddenly drawn to a shape on the floor to his left. The chandelier…Phantom…Christine…

"Our workshops have restored it and fitted up parts of it with wiring for the new electric light, so that we may get a hint of what it may look like when re- assembled. Perhaps we may frighten away the ghost of so many years ago with a little illumination, gentlemen?" A few men walked over to the mass on the floor and pulled off the sheet that was covering the shattered, but somewhat restored chandelier. It was the most haunted thing that he had so far seen in the Opera House. A small shiver ran up his back as the gentlemen grabbed the chains and pulled hard… It was too much to bear for him…

A small note drifted from the ceiling…

_Welcome, gentlemen, to my Opera!_

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A/N: I apologize for the misspelling of Erik's name! (I shall spend hours in penance.) And for the fact that the first chapter is boring and resembles the movie too much. I promise to try harder.

Again, thank you to those who pointed out my mistake.

He sat at his organ, listening patiently. They were terrible. The singing was off key, the orchestra needed fine-tuning, as for the dancers, he could just imagine their missteps. Erik cringed at the particularly bad note sang by Carlotta. No, this will not do, he will have to get rid of her before the widows of the Opera House shattered, before she ruined his opera any further. With that final thought in mind, he swept off into darkness, his black cape billowing behind him.

Christine and Meg watched Carlotta and Piangi sing their parts from the new production of Hannibal and giggled.

"Can you imagine _anyone_ liking Carlotta's voice?" Meg whispered through her giggles.

"I fear Piangi does."

Meg laughed and got an irritated glare from Madame Giry, Meg's mother and a ballet trainer. Her face was slightly flushed from frustration at trying to get the dancers do a very difficult step pattern. Meg hushed up a bit.

"I can just see the Opera Ghost sweeping down in his ghostly ways and carrying Carlotta away to singer's hell." She jumped slightly, delighted at her insight. Christine did not reply. Meg looked slightly disappointed.

"Don't you believe in the Ghost?" Meg asked. Christine remained silent. Meg looked at her friend, annoyed at the silence, and saw her looking rather absentmindedly at the seats of the auditorium.

"The Angel…" she whispered.

"What? Oh, never mind that. By the way, have you heard the news?" That got Christine's attention.

"Huh? What? What news?"

"Silly. About the new managers."

"No, I have not heard."

"We're getting new managers! Isn't that exiting?" And to show her own, she jumped up, clapping her hands. Her mother was upon her like a hawk.

"Meg Giry, will you pay attention! This is the fifth time I had to tell you and Christine that it is time to get back to practice."

Meg and Christine reddened slightly and got back in their assigned posts.

_Meg spoke of a Ghost…who is he? What did she mean?_

"Christine, please-" she heard Madam Giry's scolding voice. She stumbled and would have fallen if the girl next to her had not caught her. She apologized and got back into step with everyone else. It was at that moment she saw two men coming in, both unrecognizable, but both strode in with purpose. She glanced at Meg who was also watching the newcomers.

Sensing the disturbance, monsieur Reyer stopped the practice when the managers entered. Yes, he had heard of them, and suspected that this would happen at one point or another. But for it to happen now was really irritating. They were just beginning to improve, too. Well, not really, but still. He turned to face them as they entered and introduced each other. Exchanges were made and before he knew it, he was asked to play act three for Carlotta, a very important part of the Opera and one that he wished anyone would sing but Carlotta. But the managers command and so he will obey.

_Think of me, _

_Think of me fondly _

_When we've said good bye._

Erik paused a moment. What was this? New managers? He knew about this for some time, but did not expect the exchange to happen so soon. He reached into his pocket for a letter that was meant to be given to them when they came and smiled. _So, Lefevre wished to resign early_? He put the letter back into his pocket and proceeded to his destination, only to stop again when he heard Carlotta's screeching voice. He paused for a moment more and then decided that yes, he will have to get rid of her. If not for good, then at least for a while. He had other plans, plans for another Prima Dona. His angel. He made his way over to the flies and in a few more steps was standing directly over the stage.

He untied a few ropes and waited until he could stand the singing no longer and then let go. There was a scream, much scrambling and shouting and then he had much pleasure watching Carlotta grab Piangi's hand and practically run off the stage, shouting protests half in Spanish half in English. He watched a moment more, then, taking out the letter once more, he let it float gently onto the stage. Over all, he was rather pleased with the welcome he had given them.

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"Great! Wonderful! We just bought this opera house and it is already falling apart!" exclaimed Firmin, throwing his arms up in exasperation… and inadvertently catching a piece of paper. "What's this?" He flipped it over and read it.

My dear new managers,

I welcome you to my Opera House.

I hope your welcome was…welcoming.

Just a few reminders before you start.

Box Five is to remain empty for my use

during all first performances, my salary is to be paid promptly,

and do something with Carlotta, my ears curl just listening to her.

I remain, yours obedient,

O.G.

"His Opera House? _His_? Who the hell is O.G.?" Firmin roared. He rounded on Lefevre who was looking nervous and ready to leave.

"The Opera Ghost." yelled someone from the cast.

"A ghost? You must be joking! I remember nothing in the contract about any ghosts! What say you on this, Andre?"

Andre was bewildered. "A ghost." he said, looking slightly pale, "We bought an opera house complimented with an Opera Ghost." His hand shot up to his forehead and he raked his fingers through his hair.

"Oh, come, Andre. You seriously believe this nonsense!"

"It must be a joke some one in the cast decided to play." Lefevre supplied helpfully, intent on steering the subject away from the Ghost. "Well, gentlemen, I will leave you to it. If you need me, well…Mme Giry knows her way around the place. So long, and good luck."

And that was that. With those last words, M. Lefevre was gone. The stage went silent.

"Oh, look, there is a P.S." Andre said, unaware of the quiet, as he pointed to the bottom of the note. "'P.S.: I suggest you put Ms. Daae in the role of Elissa. I assure you, she is quite good.' Ms. Daae?"

Whispers ran throughout the cast and all eyes turned to Christine who tried, and failed, to look as inconspicuous as possible.

"Isn't there a back up for the main role? …Aside from a chorus girl?" Firmin wailed, thoroughly annoyed with the whole situation.

"No, I'm afraid not. This is a new production and we have had no time to train understudies." replied M. Reyer.

"Good grief!" Firmin felt like collapsing on the spot. "Well, I suppose we've got no other choice. Let's see what you've got, Ms. Daae."

Christine hesitated. She had been waiting for this all her life, and now that the offer was presented she was afraid to take it.

"Oh, go on, Christine. Your voice is beautiful." Meg nudged.

"Have you had any training, my girl?" Andre asked as kindly as he could, his own nerves on the verge of collapsing. Christine nodded. "Well? Can you sing something for us? Perhaps that part from Act Three, what Carlotta was singing?" He nodded towards M. Reyer to play.

"Three bars?"

"That will suffice."

The music began to play and Christine sang, pouring her entire being into the song.

_Think of me,_

_Think of me fondly_

_When we've said good bye._

"Andre, this is doing nothing for my nerves."

"Come, my dear Firmin, you must admit she is good."

_Remember me _

_Once in a while_

_Please promise me _

_You'll try_

_When you find_

_That once again you long _

_To take your heart back_

_And be free_

_If you ever find a moment_

_Spare a thought_

_For me_

"Whoever this O.G. person is, he certainly has good taste in voice." Andre whispered to Firmin who nodded in reply.

Deep down below, that O.G. person smiled in triumph. She wasn't perfect, but she was ready.

A/N: I'm going to try for some humor here. Comic relief:

**Le Fantome de le Parodie**

"_Oh, look, there is a P.S." Andre said, grinning from ear to ear at being so observant. "'P.S.: A friendly reminder, keep your hand at the level of your eyes!_>:)_ AHAHAHAHAHA! Yours truly, O.G.'"_

_"Your hand at the level of your eyes?" Firmin asked, "And what the devil does that supposed to mean?" _

_At that moment, a dark figure strolled onto the stage and walked over to Firmin._

_"Like this." it said, demonstrating by raising its hand to the lever of its eyes; well, to the level of what supposed to be eyes, a white mask, actually. "It prevents, shall we say, accidents."_

_"Oh, ok. Thanks." _

Well, tell me what you think!

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**A/N: **Sorry it took so long to update! I apologize! The weather was not cooperating…

On another note: THANKS FOR YOUR REVIEWS, and I'm glad you people like my parodies! BG

I shall try to update more often…

**A Ghost or an Angel?**

Later that evening, Christine sat in her new room contemplating when a soft knock came on her door. She knew immediately it was Meg.

"Come in."

The door opened and there stood…a dark shape.

"I am the Opera Ghost and I chose you to play the role of Elissa in the upcoming production of Hannibal." it said in an attempted deep voice. Christine only stared. The figure suddenly swooshed in, threw back the cape dramatically, and revealed a laughing Meg.

"Don't do that, Meg! My heart must have skipped a dozen beats."

"I thought you didn't believe in ghosts?"

"For a moment I thought I ought."

"Oh, Christine, you were wonderful!" Meg said dreamily, dismissing the subject of ghosts. "I wish I knew how to sing like you."

"Don't be ridiculous, Meg. Your voice is just as good as mine." She sighed. "I don't see why M. Lefevre had to choose me."

"But, Christine, your voice is so much more beautiful than mine! I am sure the Opera Gh-" she stopped suddenly as her mind registered Christine's last statement. "M. Lefevre? Do you really think it was he who sent the note?"

"Don't you think so?" asked Christine, surprised Meg even asked. It seemed so obvious that it was from the old manager. He seemed so ready to be on his way when the note arrived. "He must not have expected it to fall, or be dropped, so early." She mussed.

"What?"

"Oh, I was just thinking- no, no matter." she smiled. "What do you think of my new room?"

"I definitely _love_ the mirror! You could see yourself from head to toe whenever you wanted." Meg replied and twirled in front of it. Christine laughed.

"I think it rather out of place, especially in this room. It's so small."

"Nonsense, Christine, its perfect!"

"Do you want to switch?"

"Oh, I would love it, but mother won't allow it." She twirled again and curtsied before an unseen audience, receiving invisible roses.

"Oh, look!" she suddenly exclaimed. Christine jumped up, expecting Meg to show her something interesting. "A rose, from him! He liked me, Christine, he liked me!"

Christine relaxed, realizing it was only Meg's imagination running wild. She herself was a victim of a dreamy mind.

"Do you know what they say about his roses?" Meg asked. Christine shook her head no. "They say they bring good luck to whoever receives them!"

"What else do they say about this Opera Ghost?"

"Well, they say he came here long ago, but no body knows when. Although, others claim he built the Opera Populaire. That's why in his notes he says 'my opera house'. But anyway, Buquet said he saw Him. He said the ghost was the ugliest thing on earth, with tiny yellow eyes and horribly disfigured face. And then he has this magical lasso…" Meg shuddered. "Well, no one has heard from him for years! Until now, that is. And he has chosen you for the main part! He must think very well of you!"

_Very well indeed_… thought Erik, listening in on the conversation. Christine not only had a great voice, she also had the looks and the trust and love that he needed and wanted. She was his last hope for salvation and happiness. He turned around and headed back to his lair.

"Buquet… isn't he the one who works in the flies?" Christine asked.

"Yes. I think he's rather creepy." Meg laughed, "Maybe he's just jealous that the Ghost looks better than him, and can actually sing!"

"Or gets a better pay than him!" Both girls went into a fit of laughter.

"But in truth, Christine, the Ghost has the voice of an angel." Meg said, after they calmed down.

"An Angel?" Christine asked, suddenly serious.

"_Are you my Angel?"_

"_Yes, child, I am your Angel and I will teach you how to sing like one…"_

"_Did father send you?"_

…

"_Yes."_

"Christine?"

_Father playing the violin…_

"Christine!"

"Huh? What?"

"Oh, Christine, you scared me! What were you thinking?"

"N-nothing."

"Was it about your father?" Meg asked timidly. Christine nodded, not wanting to disclose her secret. He wanted to be kept a secret, her Angel, and she had almost given him away, almost failed him. Christine did not want to make Him unhappy for all the kindness He had shown her and for all he had taught her.

"_Trust me, and I shall make your dreams come true…"_

"Come, Meg, we'll be late for the rehearsals."

**Le Fantome de le Parodie: **

"Well, they say he came here long ago, but no body knows when. Although, others claim he built the Opera Populaire. That's why in his notes he says 'my opera house'. But anyway, Buquet said he saw Him. He said the ghost was the ugliest thing on earth, with tiny yellow eyes and horribly disfigured face-" Meg suddenly broke off and Christine looked at her friend to see what caused this unusual pause. Meg was staring at the mirror which was being opened…somehow. A man stepped into the room from behind it, wearing an evening dress, a white mask, and a rose tucked in behind his right ear.

"Excuse me, ladies." was all he said, and then looked at himself in the mirror. Christine and Meg stared expectantly at him. He took off his mask and continued to observe his face in the mirror. A perfectly normal face. "Ugly, did he say?" He looked back at the two girls. "Pardon for the intrusion once again. I shall leave immediately."

But at that moment, the door to the room opened and Mme. Giry walked in. She stood in the frame of the door for a moment and in the next instant was upon the man in the room.

"Good lord, Erik! How many times do I have to tell you, KEEP IN YOUR PLACE UNTIL THE LINES INDICATE TO COME OUT! And put your make up back on, you're supposed to look horrible!" With that, she ushered Erik back through the mirror and out of sight.

"Get ready for rehearsals, girls."

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**Who _was_ in Charge?**

Firmin stepped into the office and immediately stepped out, knocking a surprised Andre back. The office was a mess. Papers were strewn all over the floor, costumes hung on anything that held them, and the furniture was placed in the oddest way possible. Either Lefevre had no time to clean up or someone was here to look for something. Either way, the office looked like it was raided. Firmin took a careful step back into the office, trying to avoid stepping on anything of value. He and Andre made their way to the desk, which they found devoid of everything. Except a small envelope. Both managers looked at it, seeming to contemplate whether to take it or not. Finally Andre reached out and picked it up. It was addressed to both of them in red inc that looked suspiciously like blood. Firmin glared at it with utter disgust.

"What lunatic would write in blood!" he said more than asked. Andre shrugged and broke the seal. A seal, which Firmin noted, that depicted a skull.

_My dear Gentlemen, _

Andre read,

_I have already sent you a note, asking you to cast Ms. Daae_

_as Elissa in the production of Hannibal._

_I have also assured you that she is good, and you have heard her yourself. _

_Yet you still insist on treating her as a mere_

_and unworthy girl, expecting Carlotta's return any day now._

_I have no doubt that she will, and when she does,_

_I shall deal with her in a manner I see fit._

_Accept Ms, Daae as the new Diva and you will have _

_considerably less…problems on your hands._

_I remain your obedient servant, _

_O.G._

"How dare he! Once was enough, yet he still keeps up his little joke! I do not find it funny at all!" Firmin roared, referring to Lefevre. "And he writes in blood, for crying out loud! Is there a P.S.?"

"Yes. 'P.S.' its says, 'Do not get me wrong, I have nothing against M. Reyer as he seems to be the only one around this place with a sensible head on his shoulders. Aside, of course, from Mme Giry.'"

"A chorus girl as Prima Dona! This is absurd! Unheard of!" Firmin roared. "This joke has gone too far. This has the smell of Lefevre all over it!"

"I agree." nodded Andre.

"Sensible mind. Bah! The only sensible mind I see around here is mine!"

Andre looked slightly offended.

"And yours." Firmin added irritated. "Do write to Lefevre and tell him his joke is no longer funny."

"On what and with what?" Andre asked, looking around the office for something useful to use.

"Find something! I'll be in another room looking though the accounting books. I daresay they are in as good a mess as this room is. So long."

Andre stood in the office, quite alone. It truly was in a poor state. It was all too overwhelming for him in so short a time. They had just purchased the opera house and it already was slipping from their control. The rumors of the ghost were spreading like wildfire and he himself was beginning to believe them. He looked at the note in his hand and read it again.

…_I shall deal with her in a manner I see fit…_

What did he mean by that? Was he actually making a threat? His breath caught in his throat. Good Lord! Was he going to kill her? _Now now_, a voice said in his head, be reasonable Andre. _The ghost does not exist_.

Still, what was this whole business with Ms. Daae? Someone obviously wanted her advance. The only question was, who? He re-read the note again, hoping to find some evidence, but it provided none aside from two names. And neither person to whom the names belonged seemed to care who was onstage as long as the performance was good. M. Reyer's world seemed to be as big as his orchestra and his piano, and Mme Giry was much too preoccupied with the ballet dancers to worry about who the next Diva was to be. So, who was it?

Andre's thoughts were interrupted by loud shouting from the hallway. The door swung open and Firmin stormed in, kicking his way through and cursing at every step. His face was red with fury.

"He doesn't know, he says! He doesn't know! Send him to hell, maybe then he'll know!" Firmin shouted as he threw a heavy book to the floor. "Have you written to Lefevre?"

"No-"

"Well, get to it!"

Andre left the office, hearing Firmin's cursing all the way from the end of the hallway and beyond the corner.

"Fichue comptabilité! Et qui le diable _était_ responsable de cet endroit maudit! Damnez ce théatre de l'opéra! Fichu Lefevre! Et damnez le fantôme confondu!" There was a loud crash followed by another string of curses.

So, the accounting books were in a mess as well, thought Andre. How this Opera House kept together was anybody's guess. He made a mental note to check the issue himself, he was rather proud of his accounting skills. Yes, he'll make sure to check them out. For now, there are too many other things to do.

Damn accounting! And who the hell was in charge of this place! Damn this Opera House! Damn Lefevre! And damn the confounded ghost!"

**Le Fantome de le Parodie:**

The sun was shining, the weather was beautiful, and the water was warm. It was a perfect day. M Lefevre stretched out his legs, thoroughly enjoying himself. He chuckled.

"What's so funny, my dear?" his wife asked, casting a concerned glance at her husband. Was he laughing at her new bikini swim suit?

"Oh, I was just thinking about the tow dolts to whom I left the Opera House. I hope they're enjoying themselves and my joke about the Opera Ghost."

"The Opera Ghost?"

"Oh, something I made up to keep them busy." He laughed again. Though this time, it was about his wife's new bikini.

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A/N: To answer your question, Deirdre, Carlotta is speaking English (well, it's actually French, the story has been translated into English for us American and English speaking folks) because she probably had to in the Opera so she learned it. I don't know, they may have had Italian and Spanish Operas as well. Hope this helps.

"**This is Ridiculous!" **

Erik sat at his organ, looking at the notes he had written in the pas few weeks. He hadn't worked on this Opera for a few days now and it was high time that he should. Yet he couldn't make himself, his mind simply refused to work. All his thoughts were directed at Christine and tonight's performance. And while he was dead calm, she was very nervous, she told me so. But he was able to calm her down a bit by playing his violin for her. How strange the child believed him to be an angel sent by her father. He didn't mind playing to her dreams, but he was a far cry from being one. Erik's hand rose to his mask. She would hate him if she knew the truth. But this was the only way, it had to be. Everyone who ever knew him, hated him because of his disfigured face.

"Oh, Christine…" he whispered into his hands. What had he gotten himself into? What started out as a simple friendship has grown into something bigger, something stronger. At least on his part. He didn't know if Christine loved him, but there was some sort of an attachment, something to do with her father. Perhaps someday he will be able to tell her how he felt, express himself to her through his organ. Someday…

Christine felt on the verge of a nervous break down. This wasn't her first performance, but it was the first one where she had the lead role. Her hands couldn't keep still for a moment and her feet refused to stop pacing across the room. Her hair were beginning to fall out of place, the dress felt too tight, and the room was getting hotter with each passing minute. What if she forgot her lines? What if the audience didn't like her? What if…?

The door opened and Meg bounced in.

"Christine! Look at you! Your hair!"

Christine smiled weakly. Right now, her hair was the least of her concerns. What she really needed was a glass of water and her Angel to soothe her. He had visited her not long ago and played on his violin for her. They sang a few tunes and then he had to go. She hadn't been able to keep still since then.

"I'll bring a brush and a glass of water for you." Meg said and left the room. Christine continued to pace the room, glancing every now and then at the door. Soon, someone will come for her, they'll have their last run-through, and then the Opera will begin. Clasping her hands together, Christine said a silent prayer. Meg soon returned with the water, a comb and some hair accessories. But attempting to do something with Christine's hair was an utter failure; therefore Meg decided it was best to just keep them down. She stuck a few more pins into them and turned her around to take one last look at her nervous friend.

"Perfect." she said.

"Oh, Meg, I'm so nervous. What if-"

"Nonsense, Christine, you'll do wonderful. I know you will."

Christine was not reassured. Meg took her hand and they made their way for their last dress rehearsal.

"It's the ghost!" came the shouts from the stage. "It's the ghost!"

"Oh, quit your blabbering! There's no ghost!"

The stage was in an absolute chaos.

"It's the Ghost!" someone, a ballet dancer by the sound of it, cried out again.

"There _is_ no bloody ghost!" Firmin shouted in reply.

"Ewwww! Blood!"

"Oh, why does this always has to happen to me! And on the eve of the performance!" Andre wailed.

"What's going on?" Meg asked an overly exited dancer.

"He's here! The Ghost! He's killed Buquet!"

"What?"

"There's blood all over the stage and no one can find him!"

Everyone was talking all at once, everyone was trying to predict how the ghost killed Buquet, and everyone was feeding their imagination with fear. Suddenly, someone let out a very loud scream.

"What is it _now_?"

Everyone turned to where the screaming girl was pointing and saw, to their horror, Buquet standing there, covered in blood. There was a thud as someone else fainted.

At the sound of the scream, Buquet quickly turned to look behind him to see what caused it. Then he realized that the finger was being pointed at him. Confusion set in him mind.

"He's back from the dead!" he heard someone say. Dead? Was he dead? All he remembered was painting some props when he accidentally knocked a bucket of turpentine that was sitting on a shelf above. Did it kill him when it fell on his head? Were they all gathered around his body and this was his soul?

"What the devil is going on? Buquet? What happened to _you_? You're drenched in…paint?"

"Sorry, M Firmin. I was painting, I swear, I didn't know anything. I knocked a bucket of paint over. That's all, honest to God."

"What were you doing, painting on the night of the performance! Do you want this whole place to stink of turpentine?"

"Sorry."

"Good grief, what is this place coming to! Well, get on with your rehearsals!" Firmin told to everyone on stage and stormed off followed by Andre and Buquet. No one moved until Mme Giry took over and then things were back to normal.

The time was passing incredibly slowly for Erik. It seemed like eons before he finally gathered his cloak and made his way to the upper floors. He was very eager to see Christine finally achieve her dream and to hear her sing, therefore he was rather surprised and irritated when he found his Box Five occupied by some whelp. He will have to talk to the managers about this. Erik took one last look at his Box and swiftly made his way back to his lair. _How dare they_! He was rushing down the stone stairway, _His Box Five_! making his way toward the lake and the boat. What will it take to show them that this is _his_ Opera House? When will they learn?

Christine's voice floated in from above. It was the most beautiful thing Erik has ever heard. She was singing her best, he could tell, and she was singing for him. His lips curved in a small smile. She would be his yet. Her soul already belonged to him, that much he knew. Now all he needed was her heart. Erik sat down at his table and began to write.

_My dear Managers,_

_I will admit, the performance was exceptional. _

_Christine was an immense success, the ballet girls_

_did their job fairly well, but the chorus was off key several times._

_Though, I congratulate you, _

_This is the best performance yet. We were all hardly bereft _

_when Carlotta left. Christine makes for a much better_

_Prima Donna._

_There is, however, one small problem. What a nasty shock I received _

_upon arriving at Box Five to find it occupied. I believe _

_I stated quite clearly that it was to remain empty for my use._

_You have disobeyed me and I do not look kindly _

_on those who do not follow the instructions._

_I shall forgive you this time, but be warned, if you should_

_decide to disobey me again, a disaster beyond your imagination_

_will occur._

_I remain, Gentlemen, your obedient servant, O.G._

"This most certainly is absurd!" Andre exclaimed. "Box Five brings the most profit and this spectre wishes to have it for free?"

"This spectre? Andre, you must be losing your mind as well! I will stand this ghost nonsense no more! No wonder this Opera house runs only on few gold coins! Half the profits are not even there! This is ridiculous. We shall continue to do as we please!"

_Is that so? Well, I guess my managers need to be taught a lesson._

A/N: Well, here's a somewhat longer chapter. There's no Parodie because I just can't think of something. If I will, it'll probably appear later on.

Thanks for reading and reviewing :D

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A/N: I apologize for the earlier misconception on my part. Carlotta is SPANISH NOT ITALIAN. SORRY:D I stand corrected.

**Twice the Fools**

Christine sat in her room, completely surrounded by roses and other flowers. She was so relieved she could hardly move. She was a success. Her first performance and the audience loved her. There were five curtain calls, the most this opera house has ever seen. M. Firmin and M Andre were happy, Meg was ecstatic. Now she only hoped her Angel was pleased.

The door to her room opened and Mme Giry stepped in. There was a small smile on the woman's lips and she was holding another rose.

"Here, my dear." she said, handing Christine the rose. "He was please with you."

Christine stared at the flower blankly. There was a black velvet ribbon around the stem and a small note attached. It only said 'Brava' in blood red ink.

"Who is this from?" she asked in puzzlement.

"I asked Meg to leave you alone tonight as you are probably tired." was all Mme Giry said in reply and left. This was very curious.

Christine collapsed into a chair, feeling truly exhausted. The rose was still in her hand when she fell asleep.

She was still sleeping when Erik came to visit her, the rose he had given her gently resting on her lap.

"Christine?" he called softly. She did not respond but stirred slightly. She looked so peaceful in her sleep that Erik decided not to wake her up; instead he took out his violin and began to play a tune, quietly softly along.

Christine stirred in her dream. Someone was playing the violin. In her dream, she saw her Angel. He was dressed in splendid white and was singing with her. It was a beautiful dream. Then her eyes fluttered open and she found herself back in her room. The dream had ended, but the music did not stop. Someone _was_ playing the violin. She listened for a moment.

"Is that you, Angel?" she asked. The violin stopped playing but there was no reply. "Are you here?" Christine asked again in a worried tone. She didn't want her Angel to go away. "Angel?"

"Yes, Christine, I am here." came the reply. Christine breathed a sigh of relief. "You did wonderful today, child." The voice said. She blushed. He was pleased with her.

"Tonight, I did my best. I did it for you. Tonight, I gave you my soul."

"And it is the best gift anyone could ever receive. I thank you, Christine."

Silence followed, but the awkward kind. The violin music filled the room once more and Christine drifted back to sleep, feeling considerably lighter.

When Christine was sound asleep, Erik gently put the violin away and gazed at her slumbering form. For three months now he had known her and she never questioned him. Only shown full devotion. He will have to give her more time before he showed her who he really was.

Carlotta paced around the room, fuming. They had replaced her! With a chorus girl no less! She shall never forgive them! Her maid came in with a tray full of letters. Carlotta took them and dismissed the maid. It was all mainly fan mail. But there was one letter that caught her eye in particular. She had never seen anyone write in red ink. The handwriting was rather messy, but still legible. She broke the seal, opened it, and began to read it. As she got further and further, her face became redder and redder, but not from embarrassment.

"Eez this a joke?" she finally uttered. To her, it definitely seemed like one. "Theeze managers!" She re-read the letter and made up her mind to make her way to the opera house and express her views on the whole situation. She will not tolerate this abuse and will not give up her position of Prima Donna to a mere girl. She simply will not.

Carlotta popped one last chocolate in her mouth, picked up her dog, and strutted away to her private room.

When next Christine opened her eyes, it was late in the morning and light was streaming in through a small window. She yawned and stretched. And then all the memories flooded back into her. Christine looked around the room at all the flowers, success before her eyes. But nothing pleased her more than the fact that her Angel like her. She stood up and something fell to the floor. Christine glanced down. It was that strange rose with the ribbon and a note. She didn't realize she had it with her all this time. Bending down, Christine gently picked it up. In the light, she could see that the rose was aging, with hints of black around its petals. But that only added to its overall mysterious appearance. For some reason, it felt like the rose had some importance, she just couldn't tell what.

Christine found a small vase and put the flower into it. Setting in on the table, she began to rummage through her clothes for something to wear when the door opened and Meg ran in, her face radiant.

"At last, I am free to see you Christine! Mother wouldn't let me come last night because she said you were probably tired. But look at you now!" She wrapped her arms around Christine in a tight hug. "Oh, Christine, you were absolutely amazing! You knocked them all off their feet. Well, at least you would have if the audience was standing."

Christine laughed. Leave it to Meg to joke about anything.

"You will never guess who arrived today!" Meg said suddenly, holding Christine at arm's length. Christine inclined her head in curiosity.

"You don't mean M Lefevre has returned to buy the Opera house back?"

"No, nothing quite that good."

Christine thought for a moment. Obviously, the arrival of this persona did not make Meg very happy.

"Hmm, the ghost came in person and requested his Box back."

Meg laughed.

"No, the Ghost is always here. It's someone more nasty and with a terrible voice."

Christine sagged. So, Carlotta returned and no doubt wanted her position back. Well, she wasn't going to argue.

"The Ghost will not be happy." Meg said, looking at the full mirror and unknowingly at the man behind it.

Erik heard everything. He knew Carlotta would return, especially after the note he had sent her. She was too proud to ignore it. Perhaps now he can get rid of her for good. Her pride was her weakness and he will use it. Maybe he can even convince the managers that he was real. So far, they had not taken him seriously and he was getting annoyed. The previous manager was definitely more civilized, or at least smarter.

"Angel?" Christine's voice sounded through the mirror. Erik looked into the room and found her alone. He had not noticed Meg leaving. "Angel?" Christine called again.

"Yes, Christine?"

Christine was silent. She did not know how to proceed.

"I know of it, Christine. I know about Carlotta's return."

"You do?" she asked, surprised.

"Do not worry. She will not stay long." _I will see to it_, he added silently to himself. "When do you wish to start your lesson?"

"I am always ready." Christine replied.

And thus they began.

Firmin was going through the main when he noticed a letter addressed to him in red ink and in a familiar handwriting.

"Oh, not another one." he groaned and without bothering to open it, put a corner of the letter to a candle flame. He then threw it into an ashtray where it burned completely, with only the charred seal remaining. _Good riddance_! he though when Andre suddenly burst into the room, holding another letter.

"Ah, I see you've got one too." Firmin said sourly.

"What did yours say?" Andre asked. Firmin pointed to the ashtray where the remains of his letter cooled.

"I did not read it. What of yours?"

"Read it!" Andre snapped, handing the letter to a reluctant Firmin.

_Dear Andre,_

_I trust you are well? I understand you have been busy, renewing old contracts and writing new ones. However, there are few favors I would like to ask of you. First of all, when Carlotta returns, and have no doubt, she will, you will not remove Ms. Daae from her position. In your next production of my Opera you will cast Carlotta in the silent role as it seems she is better fit for it. And believe me, you will regret it if you so chose to disobey me. Ms. Daae shall play the main role._

_Second, I expect my Box Five to be kept empty for me. I will not be very happy if I will find it occupied once more upon my arrival. If you wish your stay at my Opera house to be peaceful, you should not start by selling my Box._

_O.G._

"Obsessed, I say. Obsessed!" Firmin said after he read the letter. "If Lefevre wanted the girl to be the Prima Donna, why didn't he just put her there while he was here? And this whole Box Five business is driving me crazy! Who is in charge of it?"

"Mme Giry, I believe." replied Andre.

"Well, summon her."

Andre looked out into the corridor and spotted a cleaning lady to whom he shouted,

"Call Mme Giry to the office, if you please."

The maid nodded and rushed off. Within a few minutes, Mme Giry was standing before the managers.

"You asked for me, monsieurs?"

"Yes, yes. We have a few questions." Firmin said impatiently. "You are the keeper of Box Five, are you not?"

"Yes, monsieur."

"And what do you know of this… ghost business?"

Mme Giry suddenly stiffened.

"I know nothing, monsieur. I only clean the Box after performances."

"I see. And do you know that that is the ghost's box, no?"

Mme Giry did not reply. This was a dangerous topic. The managers were up to something, she could tell. Yes, she knew about the Ghost, everyone did. But they didn't know about Erik, except… no, not even Christine. Though she suspected he was very much involved with her and this whole affair.

"Do you know anyone who writes in red?" Firmin prodded. Mme Giry kept silent.

Firmin was about to ask another question when the door flew open and a fuming Carlotta burst in.

"Ah, you are back, Madame."

"Si, I am back!" she said and slammed the letter down onto the table. "I take it that you sent me this note?"

Both managers looked at each other, confused. But as soon as they saw the note, they understood what this was all about.

"Ah… no, Madame," replied Firmin, "You see, we also received one of those notes." he was getting tired of this note business and Ms. Daae business. In fact, he was getting tired of this job as a whole. It brought nothing but trouble. What idiot said that owning an Opera was a quiet and simple job?

"But you have replaced me!" Carlotta cried out dramatically.

"Well, you see Madame, we had to."

"But now that you have returned, you may have your role back." Andre added hastily. "In the next production, you will play the main role and we will put Christine in the part of the silent Pageboy."

Carlotta smiled to herself. Now, finally these managers were talking sense. She was tired of hearing Ms. Daae's name and Ms. Daae's voice. It was nice having her silent for once.

Fools, Mme Giry thought, to have flouted his warnings. She at least hoped that they would not sell His Box Five. She knew Erik well enough to see what was to come if they did, and none of it was good. The managers, Mme Giry concluded, were either stupid or foolhardy. She gathered her skirts and quietly slipped out of the office.

"Well," Firmin said, "Since we're letting Carlotta have the main role, we might as well take our seat in Box Five. After all, a ghost does not need a seat."

**Le Fantome de le Parodie:**

"Psst, Meg. Meg!"

"Huh? Wha?"

"Meg, wake up!"

"Wha? Whassgoinon?"

"Meg, it's talking to me!"

"What?"

"The mirror! It's talking to me!"

"The mirror? What? Nonsense, Christine, that only happens in fairy tales. Go back to bed."

Parody borrowed from Terry Prattchet

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**A/N: **Sorry it took me so long to update! Been busy.

**The Toad, the Angel and the Devil **

M Reyer sighed in exasperation. This was impossible. Oh, he had known peace when Carlotta was gone. Al least that girl Christine did not need to be taught to speak proper French.

"Once more, you all will please." Mme Giry said, her own voice strained.

The musicians struck their notes and-

"No, stop. Stop! This will not do! Girls, will you ever pay attention?"

M Reyer groaned. If this went on any longer, his head will burst. It was simply too much for his aging brain.

"Let's take it again from the last act."

The corrections went on for the next two hours, but the improvement was nowhere to be seen. Carlotta was as bad as ever, the dancers were a mess, and the orchestra seemed to be off by a number of scales. At least the chorus was getting somewhere. Not by much, but somewhere. Perhaps it was the fact that the ghost has not been bothering them. Nothing had been heard of him for the past two weeks. Though, the rumors were very much alive. And one did not have to be very smart to know what they were about. They all thought that the ghost was plotting something. Foolishness, what could the ghost be plotting and why? If there _was_ a ghost indeed. Certainly, there were odd occurrences, but nothing to suggest they were done by a ghost. Ghost typically did not write little notes in red ink just to frighten the cast, did not have Punjab lassos hanging all over the place, and did not use trapdoors to move around. Yes, trapdoors. That was what gave the 'ghost' away. He also suspected Mme Giry knew this. The old lady was good at keeping information to herself, very smart. M Reyer wondered what else she knew but his thoughts were interrupted by her voice.

"M Reyer, would you please give Carlotta a few notes of the aura from Act Four?" she asked kindly. M Reyer nodded and played a few notes on his piano. Maybe whoever this Phantom was will come again and rescue them all.

There was no way around it. If he planned to get rid of Carlotta without killing her, he will have to be patient. But patience is something he had little of. Especially now, with the managers who were as stubborn as mules. They refused to obey him and make a joke out of him. And now that Carlotta was back, they were completely ignoring Christine's talents. If he could, he would make them a head shorter. But as it was, he also needed someone to keep the place running. Patience, all he needed was a little more patience. _Just wait until the performance…_

…The eve of the performance…

Carlotta was in her room preparing for the evening, her massive pink dress waiting by her side. She felt triumphant now that Christine has been put back in her place where she belonged. That girl was nothing but trouble for her. Tonight, she, Carlotta, will show to them all who was better. She will sing her lungs out if she had to. But she will prove that she was more skilled.

Carlotta smirked. After all, that Christine was nothing _but_ a girl with dreams that were too big for her own good. She summoned her dressers and began to don on her wigs, make up and the enormous dress.

Christine on the other hand, did not have much to put on. She had a simple boyish outfit and little make up. It was easy to put on and did not require much time. She sighed. Perhaps everyone did like Carlotta better; perhaps she herself was not made to be a Prima Donna, despite of what her Angel said. Perhaps he even was just part of her imagination, although he seemed real enough. Things were becoming so complicating. No one has ever hated her, Christine was sure of it. She always worked hard to please everyone. Therefore, when Carlotta began to hate her, she was confused. She didn't know hate, she wasn't used to it, didn't understand it.

"Why do people hate?" Christine asked out loud.

What a strange question, though Erik. It was very unlike Christine to ask questions like that. _Hate_… the word had had no meaning for him, aside from the fact that everyone had it. There was unjustified hate, and then there was justified hate. Erik felt his was justified. He had reasons for hate, good reasons.

"Jealousy and misunderstanding." He replied.

Christine was accustomed to always have her Angel with her and thus was not surprised when he answered. Could Carlotta be jealous? But surely there was no need. It was probably misunderstanding, something that happened often.

"Will you play the violin for me?" she asked.

"Of course." replied the voice.

The music he played was soulful and somewhat sad. Christine finished as she hummed to the tune. Singing was something she couldn't keep from doing, it helped her to keep going.

Meg stood at the door, listening. There was violin music drifting out from Christine's room, and another voice, a man's voice. There was only one being in this entire Opera House who played violin so beautifully, an that was the Ghost. But that meant that He was… No, that wasn't possible, it couldn't be. Christine didn't even believe in Him! Yet still, there was the music. And the voice, it must belong to him too!

The music stopped and Meg heard Christine say "Thank you, Angel." Angel? Meg did not understand. But then it dawned on her. The Ghost! What if he was pretending to be the Angel in order to trick Christine? But then, he was also trying to make her famous, wasn't he? That means… he must-

The door opened and Christine practically ran into Meg.

"Oh, Meg, you frightened me! What were you doing here?"

"I- I came to get you." Meg replied lamely. "Were you playing the violin?" she asked and immediately wished she hadn't. Christine stopped dead in her tracks.

"The violin?"

"I could have just imagined it…" Meg said, knowing full well that she didn't sound very convincing.

"What else did you hear?"

"Just, somebody else. Talking." It was no use lying, Christine knew that she was listening at the door. Might as well tell the entire truth.

"Are you sure?"

Meg nodded. "Come on, Christine. We'll be late for rehearsals." she urged.

This was strange, thought Christine as Meg dragged her along. She wasn't the only one who heard the Angel's voice. Maybe he was a special kind of Angel. Was that possible?

During the rehearsal, Christine had trouble concentrating. Her mind was occupied with other thoughts and she ended up tripping more than once over her own feet. Mme Giry was not exactly thrilled but patiently helped Christine. But the end of the day though, they were all ready.

The crowd was bustling, the seats were being filled, and M Firmin and M Andre sat in Box Five, preparing to enjoy a sold out Opera.

"Every single ticket sold, Andre!" Firmin exclaimed. "Every single one!"

"And no sign of the ghost!"

"Not a single bloody spot!"

"What a two peaceful weeks!"

"Did I not tell you that it was all just a joke, Andre?"

"Indeed you have. And now you have proven yourself right!"

Firmin grinned. Nothing pleased him more than knowing that he was right.

The curtain rose and the Opera began. The first act was uneventful and overall, according to the managers, successful. Carlotta was at her best, the dancing was superb, the chorus was enchanting, and the orchestra exceeded all bounds. Everything was perfect. Then Firmin noticed a few red drops fall from the flies. Thankfully, they didn't land on anyone's head and the audience apparently didn't see it. Was Buquet painting again? Few more fell to the stage.

Damn, thought Erik as he watched the paint drip onto the stage. He didn't notice the bucket until he tripped over it. Then it took all his will power to prevent himself from kicking it. He felt lucky enough that the thing didn't fall down as a whole. That would have ruined his entire plan.

Erik took out a handkerchief and wiped the paint off his shoes and then placed it over the paint on the walk. When it stopped dripping, he continued on his way to his Box Five which he knew was occupied by the managers. It was a perfect plan, he thought. One which required practically no work on his part. And if there were any…accidents, well, then, it wasn't his fault. Erik smiled; he _will_ have his way no matter the cost or consequences.

The paint stopped dripping and Firmin settle back, thinking that Buquet must have taken care of the problem. Something still felt wrong though. What would he be doing up there with paint?

Then things did begin to go wrong. The orchestra went first. Strings began to break and the notes sounded awful. Firmin could just imagine M Reyer's horrified expression. His own was probably no better.

The situation worsened when suddenly, out of the blue, Carlotta croaked. Its effect was instantaneous. The audience went silent, the dancing stopped and the time slowed as everyone stared incredulously at the Diva. She was petrified. Carlotta tried to sing again, but issued another croak. Someone in the audience laughed and others soon followed. Tears were streaming down Carlotta's face as she continued to sing, unable to stop herself, with Piangi beside her, trying to console the poor Prima Donna. Firmin hid his face. What a tragedy! He couldn't face it, couldn't bare it! What an embarrassment! A stronger and louder laughter filled the auditorium and suddenly it began to shake. Everyone automatically glanced up at the enormous chandelier. Someone screamed and it began its descend down. Panic swept the crowd and the cast was frozen on the stage. People ran and scrambled out of the way, pushing and yelling.

Christine watched the chandelier's descent in fascination. She had never seen anything like this. It was so frighteningly strange that she was unable to move. Someone shouted her name, but she paid no attention. Fear began to overtake her as she realized that it was moving right at her.

Erik watched with horror the chandelier as it moved toward Christine. _For God's sake, Christine, move_! he pleaded silently.

The chandelier was moving closer and closer, and still Christine couldn't do anything. She heard Meg's terrified voice and commotion out in the audience, but her body did not respond to her brain's warning to move.

_Christine, please…!_

Her body moved an inch and before she could move any further, the chandelier crashed in front of her.

_Christine!_

The shards of glass flew in all directions, some into Christine's body. She let out a small scream and collapsed to the floor, bleeding and unconscious.

The lights went out and panic spread like wildfire. When they came back on, Christine was gone.

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**The Price of Victory **

Carlotta gone, Christine missing, the stage and the chandelier ruined, and the event was allover the papers. What a way to run their business. To top it all off, the ghost has returned to bother them. The day after that fateful performance, he had sent them a note, telling that Christine was fine, his patience with them gone, and that he expected his salary before today, noon. Who the hell was he to order them around? This ghost had no business telling them how to run the Opera House.

"Damn and curse him!" Andre shouted. "He has completely ruined us! What are we to do now?"

"Andre, calm down."

"Calm down? Calm down? The hell I will! This is ridiculous!"

"I know Andre. But what can we do?"

"I am quitting. I am taking my belongings and going as far away from this cursed place as I possibly can! And no damned ghost or you will stop me." Andre grabbed his hat and coat and stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind him. Firmin stood in the middle, glaring at the letter in his hand. They will… no, he will, have to smoke this ghost out, whoever he was. With that last thought in mind, he took his own hat and coat and followed Andre out.

Madame Giry watched the managers go, knowing full well their intentions. Fools indeed. They ignored His warnings, and now they were unwilling to pay the price. The Opera would still go on, she was sure of that. People liked this kind of commotion, they were attracted to it. Carlotta would eventually return. As for Christine, Mme Giry did not worry about the girl. Erik would take good care of her, for that was where she was, with him. She knew that because she had seen the flash of His white mask just before the lights went out. She also knew how terrible he must feel now. It was best to leave him alone and do what he asked. The only problem was, the managers did not understand that. Well, they _will_ pay their price.

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**The Loss and the Gain **

Erik silently wiped the remaining blood off of Christine's face and put the rags away. His heart was heavier than it had been in months and his eyes refused to close for fear that Christine might die. To think that he had almost killed her… Erik felt like his own world would end if she died.

Christine stirred, but did not open her eyes due to a light pressure on them. Her head was throbbing and her body ached, though she knew not why. What had happened? The only thing that she was able to recall was a lot of light. Were they having a performance? Did she trip and fall? The light…something about the light… Christine's head began to hurt more and she decided to stop thinking. At least until the headache went away. She relaxed and drifted into sleep.

Erik felt Christine relax under his touch and felt her warm breath on the palm of his hand. He said a silent prayer to whatever deity there might be that she will get better soon. Erik understood that some wounds will leave a scar, but none, thank god, on her face. Still though, every scar on her body was a curse upon his. It was his fault entirely and he accepted it. Erik gently moved a stray curl from her face and removed the cloth that he had put over her eyes. A small bead of blood formed over her left brow and he wiped it away. For the first time in his life, Erik truly felt terrible.

"What an event at the Opera House! Have you heard, dear brother?" Philippe asked Raoul.

"Well, of course! It's all over the papers and the markets!" replied Raoul. "A chorus girl disappeared, did she not?"

"Yes, some girl by the name of ...of… Now, what was her name? Daae? Yes, Christine Daae."

Raoul froze. "Christine?"

"What are you so suddenly worried about, bro?"

Raoul regained his posture and hid his emotions. After all, everyone did these days. It was only safe.

"No, nothing." he replied, and grinned at Philippe as if to reinforce his statement. But Philippe would not buy it. He knew his brother all too well because he too was a Chagny.

"Oh, Raoul! I had no idea!" Philippe broke into a fit of laughter. So, he had Sorelli and Raoul had Christine. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"If you weren't my brother, I would put a sword through your heart, dear Philippe."

Philippe laughed harder. Raoul was a Chagny after all.

Raoul wasn't laughing though. When Philippe mentioned Christine, his heart must have skipped several beats. He remembered her clearly, the little girl with a red scarf. They were the best of friends in their childhood, and now she was apparently working at the Opera. Raoul wondered if Christine even remembered him. Probably not, though he hoped she did. He politely excused himself and went into his room. Christine was missing and here he was doing nothing about it. What kind of friend was he? Somehow he had to figure out a way to get into the deeper halls of the Opera House without rising suspicion. There must be a way… Then he had it. He will become a patron, he will convince Philippe to do for him. _Yes_, Raoul though, _that is what I'll do_.

* * *

"_I'll get it for you!" a little boy shouted and ran into the sea after her red scarf. She watched him go in anticipation. The seas were dangerous and she was half expecting him to drown. But the Boy came out alive, holding the soaked scarf, he himself drenched. _

_"Get you inside, you insolent boy!" an elderly lady shouted at him, but he only laughed and ran away from her. _

_"What's your name?"_

_"Raoul." he said, handing her the scarf. There was a small blush on his cheeks and he hid his face, embarrassed. _

_…_

_…_

_…_

_"You found me again!" he said, pretending to be offended. _

_"It's your turn to look for me." she replied in return. _

_"No fair!" _

_She ran and hid behind a gravestone. _

_"I'm coming!" she heard Raoul say. Minutes passed, and he was still not able to find her._

_"Christine? I know where you are." he teased her. "Christine?" She didn't reply._

_"Christine? Christ_ine? Christine!"

Christine's eyes flew open and she stared up at a white face. No, not a face, a mask. She was so startled that she must have jumped up because a sudden pain shot up through her head and down her spine. Christine winced and fell back. The memory of Raoul's face floated before her. It was only a dream, nothing more. She opened her eyes again and looked at the man sitting before her. He was very strange looking. There was a mask on his face that matched the color of his shirt. Was he one of the cast members? Her hand tentatively reached for the mask, but the man pulled away.

"No, Christine. Please, not yet." he said hoarsely. The voice sounded strangely familiar. It was soft despite its harshness.

"Who are you?" Christine asked. She was surprised at how weak her voice sounded.

"Rest, Christine. When you are well, you can go back." replied the man. Christine did not argue and, longing to see Raoul's face again, drifted back to sleep. Erik watched her for a little while then left.

Strange, the thought, he didn't even care about anything else right now. Not even his organ. His organ. Erik looked at the instrument, sitting there unused for many days now. He struck a note and it filled his chamber. He played another one, and before he knew it, the music was everywhere. This was his world, his happiness. Why did he ever get involved with Christine? She was beautiful and trusting and loving, yes, she also had a great voice. But what was all that to him? He got on just fine with only his music and his Box Five seat before. What was the matter now?

But Erik knew what was the matter. Christine offered him love, something he had been denied all his life. At least he thought she did.

Erik stopped playing. His elbows struck a few random notes and he hid his face in his hands. He was going mad. He was losing his mind and all over Christine. Was it worth it? Even for love? If she really loved him, he would be the happiest of men, but what if she rejected him when she saw what he really was, what he looked like, every one did. He couldn't risk his sanity for that. Better bring Christine back and be done with it all. Perhaps it would be best for them both. Erik took out his Don Juan opera he had been working on and began to play it.

When Christine woke up, she found herself back in her own room with no recollection of the past few days. She had a small headache, but nothing that bothered her too much, and an itch above her left brow. Her hand went up to scratch it but was met with a bandage. Surprised, Christine went to the mirror to look at it. But on the mirror she found something else. A small note was attached to it, written in red. She detached and read it.

_Be more careful in the future._

More careful in the future? Who was this from? Christine looked at the bandage above her brow and gently touched it, then took it off. An angry red line ran above her eye. Then something flashed in her mind. The light! She remembered what the light was. It was the chandelier. It fell almost on top of her. Christine looked back at her reflection and the memories of the last two days returned. They were having a performance when it fell, and when it landed before her feet she must have lost consciousness. Then there was this man with a white mast. He was very strange, yet she felt like she knew him. Something about him felt familiar. The man didn't answer her when she asked and she was unable to persist due to the tiredness. Maybe she will ask around.

Another thought then presented itself in Christine's mind. She had not spoken to her Angel. Panic set in her chest as she called out to him. In response, the door flew open and a young man rushed in, calling back her own name.

A/N: Yes! Raoul is BACK! BWAHAHA!I just think the story is more interesting with him.

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**The Masked Ball **

"Ms. Daae!" the young man cried out, "Christine!"

Christine whirled around and stared into the face of a man whom she knew for so long. That face was different now, but the eyes were just as bright. His dark locks of hair were wild and uncombed, and a small moustache resided above his upper lip. This was Raoul, all grown up.

"I am sorry, Monsieur, but I do not know you." her mouth whispered before she knew what was said. Raoul was startled. The moment he saw her, the moment he heard her voice, he had completely forgot all his worries and the reason for his coming. He was so overjoyed to see her, and now she was saying she did not know him. This seemed equivalent to getting a violent slap across one's face.

"But you… you must remember me!" Raoul uttered, "I am the little boy from the sea!" Christine hid a smile. Yes, she remembered the little boy who rescued her scarf all too well. But she didn't show it. She didn't dare to for fear that her Angel will find out. He was very strict.

"I am truly sorry, Monsieur." And she was.

"But, Christine, I am Raoul, don't you remember?"

_Yes_

"No, Monsieur, I do not know anyone by that name."

Raoul was devastated. All that and for nothing. He had pledged his patronage to the Opera, he was all set to go down to the darkest hell for her, he was ready to take her in his arms and embrace her and confess his feelings for her, and she told him she didn't know him. Oh, what a blow to his heart!

"Well, I guess that's that." Raoul finally said after composing himself. Christine nodded. He took one last longing look at her beautiful face and left the room.

Christine collapsed into a chair. She saw the hurt in his eyes, heard the pain in his voice, but she couldn't help it. Her eyes welled up with tears and a single escapee rolled down her cheek.

"Angel?" she called again. There was no response. Did he leave her? Did he know about Raoul? Did he think she had abandoned him? Christine's heart trembled with fear. What will she do now? How can she go on without her Angel? The sheer misery overwhelmed her, the dams broke down and the tears flowed freely.

Raoul leaned against the wall, his hand clutching at his heart. This was the worst blow of all. She did remember him, he realized, she only pretended. He also realized that she had denied him for someone else, someone who didn't even exist, and someone who was part of an old tale. How cruel! How heartless! And he thought her to be innocent.

Raoul recollected his wits and briskly walked away from Christine's room and the lies. When he got home, his brother was there to meet him at the door, all grins and winks.

"So, dear brother, did you find your lady?" Raoul only stared at his brother.

"No," he replied icily, "I only found a cold statue of her resemblance."

Philippe was taken aback by Raoul's moodiness. He was usually quiet and shy, and here he was, clearly displaying his anger. Something must have transpired between the two to cause such a display. Though before he could inquire further, Raoul disappeared up the steps and behind his door. _How very strange_.

Christine wiped away the tears and looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were puffy and her face was red. She went to a basin of water and dipped her hands into it. The water was fresh and cool and very inviting. She washed her face and combed her hair. Then she put on a clean dress and prepared to go out. It was an early fall morning and a perfect day to visit the streets of Paris. Perhaps she can even visit her father's grave. Christine put on a cloak, took one last look at her face (since there was not way of hiding the mark above her brow, she lowered the hood until it covered half of her face), and proceeded on her way outside.

The morning air was crisp and Christine felt immediately better upon inhaling a lungful. She had not realized how stale the air was inside the Opera House. The fresh air cleared her mind of all thought and for the first time in many days, Christine smiled. She spread out her arms, turned her face skyward, and laughed out loud. She didn't care if people stared, she finally felt free, her soul, at this moment, was soaring high above the clouds. This was the greatest feeling on earth.

A small figure suddenly rushed past her. Christine glanced behind her and saw Meg's retreating back. Christine called out, but Meg kept on going so she decided to go after her.

"Meg!" Christine called again as soon as she was close. Meg jumped and quickly turned around, fear written all over her face. She was clutching a dress to her chest.

"Oh, Christine, it's only you. I feared it was my mother." Then Meg paused. _It's only you_… And then-

"Oh, Christine!" Meg exclaimed. "Oh…oh! I didn't know you were back! When did He return you?"

"He? Meg, what are you talking about? And where did you get that dress?"

Meg looked down at her possession and quickly tried to hide it, but in vain.

"Oh, Christine, promise me you won't tell? Promise?" Meg pleaded.

Christine raised her hand in mock-pledge and promised to keep the secret.

"Well, it's my dress for the masked ball."

"Masked ball?"

"Yes, you see, my mother said I have to wear something I already have and that there is just no point in spending any more money on a new dress. But, oh, I so wished to have a new one so I… Well, you know the rest." This was all expelled with such speed that only now did Meg paused and took a breath. Christine blinked.

"What is all this about a Masked ball?" she asked Meg who was looking around nervously.

"It's just a party MM Andre and Firmin are throwing for the new patrons."

"The new patrons?"

"Oh, you didn't hear? We have new patrons. We are rich now and can perform the most glorious operas!"

"But who, Meg, who?"

"The Chagnys." Meg replied. All air was gone from Christine's lungs. The Chagnys? Raoul and Philippe? This was unexpected. That was why Raoul came to visit her, she thought, to tell her about this. And she had turned him away so coldly. How awful.

"When is it, Meg?"

"Today, tonight. You should come, it will be splendid! There will be so many people! Oh, but I must go now, Christine! Before someone finds me with this!" and she rushed off.

Christine stood in the middle of the street, confused. Yes, she will go to the party and she will apologize to Raoul. Well, so much for going on a walk.

It was the most splendid sight that she had ever seen. The costumes were amazing and exiting, and everyone was different. Christine looked around the room to find Meg, and spotted her right away in Sorelli's group. She looked very pretty in her new dress with her hair all done up. Christine looked down at her own costume. It was a simple domino that she found in the costume room. Mme Giry said she could borrow it since Meg was not going to wear it because she had bought herself a new dress. Christine smiled. There was just no way in hiding anything from the ballet teacher.

A gentleman came up to her and asked her if she wanted to dance. Christine politely refused and went looking for Raoul. He was the sole person to whom she wanted to talk right now. A bright red costume flashed in the corner of her eye. She turned around to see who it was. It was a tall man, dressed in a red suit with a red cape. On the back of it, it said "DO NOT TOUCH ME, FOR I AM THE RED DEATH, STALKING ABROAD" in gold letters. Christine shuddered. What a gruesome costume. The Death looked right at her and smiled. Or rather grinned in a grotesque way. A shiver ran down her spine and Christine turned away from the man in search of Raoul. He was no where in sight. A slight tap on her shoulder brought her face to face once again with the Death.

"Will you dance, mademoiselle?" it asked in quiet and beautiful voice. Christine mouth dropped a few inches. This man, this thing, was asking her to dance with him. She didn't know what to say. Somehow, though, refusing was not an option. Without waiting for the response, the man took her hand in his, which was deathly cold, and led her to the dance floor. Christine's mind went blank after that point. Every noise around her was a blur, every word was slurred. Then, out of the blue, came his voice, the man's voice, as clear as a bell.

"Do you love me, Christine?" Christine wanted to break away at that moment, but couldn't, the man's grip was hard, yet gentler than the mother doe's. She pretended not to hear the question. This man who was a total stranger to her, to ask such a thing! In the next whirl of the waltz, her eyes fell upon Raoul's, and his were filled with jealously, contempt and rejection. Christine felt like she would die of shame. Meg's face floated by, happy and worry-free, other face swum by, spinning faster and faster. And faster still! Soon, the ball room was nothing but a colourful blur, another world spinning by. Christine tried to plead for the man to stop, but the words were lodged in her throat, unable to come out. _Please let it stop_! her mind shouted. _Let it stop_! She shut her eyes tight to close out the blurriness which was making her sick, but her head was spinning out of control. Surely she cannot die this way. Who was this man! Oh the torture! And then her mind went blank and she went limp in His arms.

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**The Mirror **

"Christine? Christine!" came Meg's distorted voice through her mind. She felt a cool cloth on her forehead and sighed. Upon opening her eyes, Christine found herself surrounded by a number of people, all of whom were in costumes. The ball was not over yet and she probably only fainted for a few minutes.

"Have a glass of water." Mme Giry said, thrusting one into her hand. Christine willingly took it and drank it down. The coolness of it calmed her down and she relaxed.

"What happened?" Christine asked when her breather slowed and her head regained complete control of the situation.

"You just fainted!" Meg said. "I saw you dance, and then you just fainted!"

"Just fainted?" Christine asked, slightly confused. Wasn't she spinning too fast, wasn't the man whirling her around the room?

"But the man…?"

"Oh, He's gone. When you fainted in His arms, He immediately brought you over to a chair, called for some assistance, and then disappeared."

Christine stared at Meg. _Disappeared? But how was that possible_?

There was some pushing of the crowd, some protests, and then Raoul came into view. His face was ridden with worry and concern. He kneeled before her, took her hand, and asked her continuously if she was well.

"Yes, Raoul, I am well." Christine replied to each question. Raoul looked up into her face and smiled.

"You remembered." he said. Christine nodded. Still feeling slightly faint, she decided to excuse herself and return to her room. Meg and Raoul protested in unison, but Mme Giry consented and said she would escort her.

In the hallway, Christine asked if Mme Giry saw her faint.

"Yes, I did." replied she.

"How… how did it happen?"

"Well, I must say, it must have been the heat of the room."

"But, how did I… faint? Because I remember being spun very fast. I felt sick."

"It was the heat, dear." Mme Giry concluded. Christine decided not to pursue the subject. When they reached her room, she thanked the lady and entered it.

The room was dark except for a single candle which illuminated and reflected in the mirror. It looked so strange, set there, reflecting the small flame. Almost hypnotizing. The flame moved at the slightest disturbance in the air, throwing shadows on the walls. It was fascinating, and yet, Christine did not remember leaving it there, let alone lighting it. She walked up to the mirror and looked at her own reflection. For some odd reason, it looked faint and transparent-like. Her hand stretched out and met with the reflection. The glass was cool to the touch, perhaps a tad bit too cool. When Christine applied a small pressure on it, it moved ever so slightly, to the side. This was curious. It was a doorway! But then… No, she was just being foolish, imagining things again. Like Mme Giry said, it must have been the heat. Still, her interest was piqued and was not easily put down.

She heard some voices coming down the hallway and quickly moved away from the mirror, and only returned when all was quiet once again. The candle was almost burnt out and was flickering more often. Christine ignored it, and pushed the mirror harder. It budged a little, revealing a small crack on the side. Sliding her slender fingers between the wall and the glass, Christine pushed. The mirror slid easily to the side. Christine staggered back slightly as a blast of cold air hit her from behind it and extinguished the flame, plunging everything into complete darkness.

A/N: I apologize for the shortness of this chapter, but I'M RUNNING OUT OF TIME! AAAGH! Well, I hope you like it anyway.

N.B: Its spring break for me, so I won't be publishing for a week. But I'll be back with more chapters! Puts her hand on the Phantom's mask I promise!

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A/N: Sorry it took me so long to get back... but I am back now and with another chapter. Enjoy!

**We Meet Again… **

Mme Giry briskly walked back to the Ball. She was slightly worried leaving Christine alone, but figured the girl probably had a somewhat sensible head on her shoulders. Hopefully. At least she won't in any danger with Erik. Although, he seemed to be losing his mind. Well, no matter, what will be done, will be done. Mme Giry opened the door that led to the party, stepped in, and almost got run over by a couple of overly exited girls. More annoyed than surprised, Mme Giry followed them with her eyes to find what caused such excitement. Upon finding nothing, she glanced in the other direction. There stood her entire corpse de ballet along with a few chorus members, oohing and aahing and giggling uncontrollably. She knew immediately what was going on.

Dressed in an evening dress two sizes too big, a mask over his grotesquely painted face, a with a lasso in his hands, Joseph Buquet stood at the center of the circle, grinning like the fool he was and looking for the next victim to throw the lasso on.

"He stalks in the dead of night, like this, with his small and yellow eyes burning. And woe to those who see him!" Buquet continued his story. The girls squealed in delight and exaggerated fear when suddenly the lasso flew around of the girls' necks.

Erik watched, rather amused, as Buquet demonstrated once again the trick with the lasso. Funny, he thought, the man hardly knew him and already he was making up the most absurd things. Write in blood? Who ever had _that_ bright idea? It congealed and dried so fast it was useless. As for him being a skeleton, well, it was what it was: just another rumor. His body was as good, if not better, as anyone else's. It was just left side of his face, hence the mask. And then, what was this whole business with the lasso? It was the most uninteresting and unreliable way of getting rid of someone. It was a ridiculous idea. Nothing he, Erik, would ever use. Unless… yes, he would teach the flies-man a lesson. Erik smiled as his mood lightened a bit. He was finally getting back into his usual self. Forget Christine, there was nothing she could give him.

"Watch your tongue, Joseph Buquet," Mme Giry warned, freeing the disappointed girl from the lasso, "Or you'll find your self hanging along _with_ your flies."

Buquet did not reply but only took back his lasso and made his way to the refreshment table.

"Foolish man." Mme Giry whispered under her breath.

"Very interesting costume, Monsieur. Where did you find it?"

Erik turned to face the man behind him. He was tall, lean, and dressed as a general.

"Pardon?"

"The costume, it's very intriguing. Where did you get it?"

Erik thought for a moment and then replied,

"I made it." The man was silent for a few seconds.

"Made it?"

"Yes, Monsieur, made it."

"It is very impressive."

_A compliment? For him? _

"Thank you."

"I am Raoul de Chagny, by the way." the man said and extended his hand. Erik extended his own gloved hand in return. Raoul flinched slightly at Erik's strong grip but immediately hid it with a wide smile. "And you are?" he asked. Erik did not reply. Should he tell this man? Not even Christine knows his name. Better not. Instead, he replied,

"What a coincidence. I am Raoul too." Erik grinned, freed the man's hand, and walked away leaving a stunned Raoul behind. He felt unusually light then. He had made a joke, if that is what jokes were. _Heh, people _do_ act stupidly_. What amazed Erik the most was the fact that it came so easily. He checked the clock on the far wall. It was getting late and his opera still remained unfinished. It would be his last opera before he left and he wanted it to be perfect. Christine would play the main part and he… he will… be gone. No more of Christine. There were other plans, but now they were useless.

The passage was dark and Christine shivered in the frigid air. What was this place? She didn't like it, but she wanted to know where it led. Her body pressed against the wall lest she slip and fall into the dark and the unknown. Aside from periodical dripping of water and Christine's ragged breath, the passageway was silent and very frightening. _Where does it lead?_ Christine took a few more cautious steps, clinging to the cold and wet walls. _Does anyone know of it?_ Pause. _Whose is it_? A couple more steps. A corner. Christine peered around it. More darkness. The air was stale and smelled of dead rats and rot. Goosebumps raced across Christine's skin. Wrapping arms around her body would mean letting go of the wall, and that was something she could not do. Better be cold than to die. Somewhere behind something stirred or moved or whatever. Christine's head whipped around, her heart pounding out the last seconds of her life, she was sure of it. She stood still for a moment. Deathly quiet. Not even the tiniest sound. Christine didn't know whether to be relieved or more frightened.

Suddenly, a shadow materialized out of nowhere and Christine found herself pinned closer to the wall, unable to move. She let out a scream and attempted to fight away the Death. Warm breath washed over her cheeks and a whisper penetrated her head.

"I knew someone was here." it said. Christine's entire body shook like a leaf. The Death had come at last to claim her.

"Please don't take me!" she cried out with all her strength.

_A woman?_! Erik was taken aback. In the dark he was not able to distinguish the gender and assumed that it was a man. But it was a woman!

"Please!" she said again, clutching his shirt. _No, not just any woman, it was Christine_! Curse her! How did she find her way in?

"What are you doing here!" Erik asked, prying her fingers off and pushing her back against the wall. Christine cringed.

"Please don't take me away, Lucifer's servant!" she pleaded. _Lucifer's servant_? What the devil was she talking about!

"Christine?"


End file.
